Sinking Ships
by Sierra Phoenix
Summary: The sands were shifting once again and he realized he would never be able to hold on tight enough. AU JohnAeryn


TITLE: Sinking Ships  
AUTHOR: Sierra Phoenix  
FEEDBACK: SierraPhoenix82@aol.com  
CATEGORY: AU, Angst, Vignette  
RATING: PG-13  
SUMMARY: The sands were shifting once again and he realized he would never be able to hold on tight enough.  
  
Moya's halls were quiet, the kind of silence that lingers in the consequence of absence. In years past the halls had been abundant with the noise of life. The joys of laughter, tears of sorrow, and the war cries of battle had all, at one time or another, echoed throughout the wondrous ship. Now Moya's slight creaking as she glided through space was all that was left and it seemed little more than the sound of a pin-drop in the aftermath of the clatter that had once resonated between her walls.   
  
But despite what the silence might indicate, the ship was not empty. Many of those that had once occupied its rooms left them vacant now. Zhaan had been the first to take leave of Moya's halls, sacrificing herself to save Moya and her crew, and soon after Stark abandoned the ship. Eventually Rygel met his end, diminishing their group even more. Chiana was next to be taken from their midst, heralding the disappearance of D'Argo, and then there were two. John and Aeryn. But today their numbers had been cut once more, and another of their members fled into the arms of death.   
  
They were all gone.   
  
Pilot, of course, remained. Bonded to Moya as he was, he watched the passing of Moya's inhabitants with the eyes of an historian. Part of the time and the place, living among them, and though he would always be just as much a member of the family as any of the others, he would always be an outsider. The ever-steadfast witness to their lives and deaths, always watching but never participating, he would be here long after they had all ceased to be. Like those who record history, he would be the last one standing, a living memory of the wars and battles fought by those who once roamed Moya's halls, and he and Moya would carry battle scars as proof. Together, at least, they would never be alone. A testament to the world until, eventually, they too faded into memory, taking the last vestiges of their crew with them.   
  
But for the moment, Pilot was not the only creature living inside Moya. In his quarters, John Crichton sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders hunched, elbows resting on his knees with his head cradled in his hands. He had been sitting in that position, completely motionless for the past half-arn. If it weren't for the subtle movements of his breathing he could be mistaken for a statue, and even breathing seemed a chore for him right now.   
  
He had lost them all. He had lost them. He let them slip right through his fingers, stood by and watched while their makeshift family got ripped apart. He could imagine the possibility that, were it not for him, they'd still be alive. Or maybe they'd be worse off. Either way, no amount of 'what-ifs' could ever change what was done.   
  
He was a fire, drawing danger to him like a swarm of mothes and burning away everyone he ever cared about in the process. Even-   
  
Crichton could feel the intrusion. He didn't need to look up to know that he was no longer alone in the room, even if it was only in his mind's eyes. "Go away."   
  
The intruder did not comply, instead choosing to sit next to him on the bed.   
  
Crichton sighed, not so much in irritation, he didn't have the energy for that, it was more a sigh of defeat. Not the kind that came from surrender, but of those who had nothing TO surrender.   
  
"Harvey, if you came here to offer me condolences you're wasting your time, they're worthless."   
  
Even after they had killed Scorpius, Harvey was still around haunting him like a damn ghost. How was it that everyone he ever loved could be wiped away without a trace and the one man, the one _demon_, he wanted to get rid of seeped into his skin and wouldn't wash away.   
  
Harvey huffed next to him. "No, I did not come here for that. I've seen in your memories the empty sympathies people offer on occasions such as these. Such words are inadequate and insulting."   
  
"Well at least we see eye to eye on that. So then the question is what ARE you doing here? 'Cause if it's all the same to you I'd rather be alone."   
  
John could feel the bed shift as Harvey rustled nervously next to him. He knew that in reality the bed wasn't moving. No one was really there.   
  
When Harvey remained silent, Crichton presumed what his motives were. "Let me guess. You caught a glimpse of some of the kamikaze thoughts that have been floating around in my head and you're worried about going down with the ship."   
  
"Yes, I must confess I am worried about you John Crichton."   
  
Crichton gave a muffled, broken laugh. "You're not worried about me. You're here to save your own ass. Well sorry bud, there's no lifeboats on this ship. The boat's sinking and as captain, I'm going down with her."   
  
Harvey was silent a moment before he made another plea. "I understand that losing Officer Sun-," Crichton's head jerked up so suddenly that Harvey froze mid-sentence.   
  
"No, you don't understand." Crichton tore his piercing gaze away from Harvey, glancing wildly around the room, his eyes desperately searching for something but only finding the stains of memories. She had been here with him at one time. "You _can't_ understand."   
  
"Crichton, you can't give in. You have work left to do." Crichton only vaguely listened, studying his hands as he rubbed his fingers across one palm, and then the other. "The world needs you, John Crichton."   
  
Aeryn had once told him she loved his hands. It stood out in his memory because, at the time, it seemed so unlike Aeryn to fixate on so small and insignificant a detail. She never told him what it was she saw in them that made her love them so, but he thought he knew now what it was, because he had once seen it to.   
  
He had seen strength and possibility. Crichton had a great mind. Ahead of his time, or at least ahead of the time of those he left on earth so long ago, and coupled with the work of his hands he had thought he could change the world. He _had_ changed _his_ world.   
  
But now when he looked at his hands he saw the seeds of destruction. He had amazing knowledge in his head that could do wonders for the galaxy, but in the wrong hands it would bring chaos and time had showed him that his were the wrong hands. He could see now that they always had been. One day, when the universe was ready, someone would come along and open the doors to extraordinary things. But it wouldn't be him. All his hands could offer the world was devastation.   
  
"This world doesn't need John Crichton anymore. And I don't need you."   
  
Harvey sighed like one would with a petulant child that couldn't grasp the importance of what he was being told. Sensing this scheme was not working, he switched tactics. Trust the man in the black to have an ace up his sleeve. "You know, John, it doesn't have to end this way."   
  
Crichton dragged a hand through his hair. "What are you talking about, Harvey? It's already ended."   
  
"That doesn't mean you have to accept it. Let me show you what I mean."   
  
Crichton shook his head. "Damnit Harvey, just go away. I don't want to listen to any more of your…" Crichton's eyes caught on something in the doorway and his heart constricted painfully in his chest, rendering him temporarily unable to breathe. He quickly pulled himself up off the bed.   
  
She was there. Her expression was unreadable except for the whisper of a smile on her face as she watched him, just like always, as though she had stepped out of memory and into life.   
  
He stood frozen where he was, eyes captivated with the sight of her, and it seemed like an eternity passed before he could move again. Finally he did move, tearing his eyes away and turning so that his back faced her and he faced the wall. "She's not real."   
  
"Who's to say what's real? I'm not real, and yet, here I am." Harvey said joyfully, now also standing.   
  
Crichton clenched his jaw. "You and I both know Aeryn's gone."   
  
"She seems very much here to me." Harvey replied.   
  
"She's not real." John ground out. "Now make her go away."   
  
Harvey shrugged. "If she's not really here then you do not need me to make her disappear."   
  
Crichton turned his head to yell at him again. "Damnit Harvey, I said…" He let the air blow out him when found Harvey was no longer there.   
  
"John?"   
  
At the sound of her unmistakable voice, he tensed, angling his head slightly but not turning to look at her. He stood still as he listened to the slow, quiet padding of footsteps drawing closer to him. Then he felt them, hands lightly touching his back. His muscles relaxed and he slowly turned to face her.   
  
His eyes drank in the sight of her as though he hadn't seen her in years, when in fact, it had only been a few hours. They regarded each other carefully, neither making a move.   
  
People die. It's the rule of life. Everything that lives eventually dies, even the people you love. And those who love deeply never recover. Just like Aeryn Sun and John Crichton. They were two pieces that merged to form a whole, parts of each entwining with the other so that if one left it would inevitably take pieces of the other with it, and leave behind fragments of itself in the surviving fraction. The world changes forever because one single person is no longer in it. In an instant it changes who a person is, irrevocably. And Crichton was now only half of who he used to be.   
  
This was nothing new of course. Generations of people had suffered with the separation of the lost halves of their souls long before John and Aeryn met, and many more succeeding generations after would suffer the same long after the two lovers were forgotten. Their love was not unique in the world, but that didn't make it any less powerful or the heart splitting any less painful for the one left behind.   
  
So it was no wonder that, for just a moment, John Crichton entertained the possibility that he could have it all back. He didn't have to let his memory control his fate. Harvey was right, it didn't have to end this way. Aeryn could be his again, he could restore the scattered remnants of his heart, and salvage the dreams they had dreamed together and hadn't yet fulfilled. He couldn't be faulted for wanting to believe he could get his life back. He was only human.   
  
Aeryn brought her hand up to caress the side of Crichton's face. He leaned into it, closing his eyes and savoring the warmth and feel of it. "I missed you." John stated, opening his eyes again.   
  
Aeryn smiled sadly. "You don't have to any more."   
  
It was too much to resist.  He reached out and pulled her tightly into his arms.  "Oh god Aeryn.  I thought I'd lost you."   
  
She returned his embrace, pulling his head to her shoulder and stroking his hair as she had done many times before in the past.  "You didn't lose me.  I'm right here."   
  
He couldn't stop the hot tears that burned down his cheeks as he clung to her, his shoulders shuddering with the release of silent sobs that had been pent up in him.    
  
He pulled back, his hands going to her face, tracing the paths he remembered so well.  Everything was just as he remembered it.  His hands threaded through her hair and he leaned into her, bringing his face close to hers.  He brushed his lips over hers, lightly at first, and then with more fervor as he slid one hand behind her neck and an arm around her waist, seeking to recall the taste of her.   
  
He broke away from her mouth and moved to the crook of her neck, burying his face in her hair and breathing in the scent he could never forget.  He clutched her so tightly that it must have hurt, but Aeryn didn't reprimand him as he tried to recapture what he had thought forever lost only moments ago.  But she was here now.  She was in his arms again and he had another chance.  He wouldn't lose her this time.   
  
"I don't know what I'd do without you," he spoke quietly.   
  
Aeryn soothingly rubbed her hand across the back of his shoulders.  "I told you I'll always be here, remember?"   
  
His body stiffened in her arms, something flickering in his memory.  Whispered words from dying lips, blood on his hands...  "But you're not."  The sands were shifting again and he realized he would never be able to hold on tight enough.   
  
Aeryn pulled back to look into his face.  "John?"   
  
He took a step back, away from her.  He remembered the words she had whispered to him while he held her body in his arms and Aeryn Sun passed from life.  And she was right.  She would always be with him, but not like this.   
  
He reached his hand up to trace her face one more time.  "I love you."  She smiled at him, and he returned it with a broken smile of his own.  Then he closed his eyes and with the last bit of strength he had, he willed the mirage away.  When he opened his eyes again she was gone and his hand caressed only empty air.    
  
Crichton suddenly felt very tired, all the air rushing out of his lungs and struggling to draw back in again.  He felt old.  He _was_ old.  How long had he been out here?  Fifteen cycles?  Twenty?  He had lasted longer than he thought he would.  He had even outlasted all those around him, save for Pilot and Moya.  The fight just wasn't in him anymore.   
  
Crichton turned and made his way to the bed, crawling across the mattress and lowering himself onto his side.  He bent his knees, drawing them up slightly so that he was lying in a spooning position.  He stretched his hand across the cool, empty sheets beside him hands grasping vainly for what the vacant space once held.   
  
A chirping sound came from the entryway alerting Crichton to the presence of a DRD. Good 'ole One-Eye.   
  
Shortly thereafter Pilot's voice flowed over the comms, "Crichton? Are you alright?"   
  
John clenched his fist, drawing his arm back toward himself. "Yeah, Pilot, I'm fine." The words were empty, holding no truth, but he said them anyway unsure whose benefit they were really for. His eyes returned to the empty spot beside him, and he repeated the words under his breath, "I'm just fine."   
  
End 


End file.
